


Psychic Detectives and Dark Passengers Don't Mix

by chaostheorem



Category: Dexter (TV), Psych
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-14
Updated: 2011-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-01 19:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/360617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaostheorem/pseuds/chaostheorem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shawn and Juliet take a vacation to Miami and run into Dexter and Debra while touring the station. Fake psychics and real serial killers do not mix well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Psychic Detectives and Dark Passengers Don't Mix

"No fucking way!" Debra exclaimed.

The outburst came out of nowhere. If I was the startling type, I would have jumped out of my chair. I couldn't tell if Deb was happy or outraged just from her voice, so I looked up from her case results to look at her, but she was focused on something outside of my office. Following her gaze, I saw a man and a woman talking to Batista.

"Who are they?" I asked.

Debra looked at me with worn-out patience. "Don't tell me you don't remember Juliet? O'Hara?" she prompted, but nothing rang a bell. I shrugged my shoulders. "She was an officer here, but she moved to some place out in California to be a detective. It was like…" Debra trailed off as she thought. "Fuck! Six years ago! Can it really be that long?"

I stayed still and silent. I wasn't sure if this was one of her questions that I was supposed to answer or not. Most of the time she found her own answers if I just stayed quiet long enough.

"Let's go say hi," Debra said, smacking me on the shoulder as she walked by.

"Deb, I'm a little busy –" I started, pointing at my computer, but she just stood at the door and glared until I stood up.

"O'Hara!" Debra called loudly not two feet from my office door. "What are you doing here?"

I had to stop myself from flinching when the blonde woman turned from Batista and let out a tiny squeal of happiness when she saw Deb. "Debra Morgan! I was hoping I'd run into you! Not in Vice anymore, I see," she said. I was a little surprised to see Deb accept a hug from Juliet since she usually didn't get along with women as well as men. Or maybe I just hadn't been paying enough attention.

Debra stepped back from her friend and stood by me. "Been in Homicide for almost six years. Check this out," she said, pulling out her shield. "I'm a fucking detective now!"

Juliet gasped and leaned forward for another hug. My cheeks were starting to hurt from my forced smile, but I noticed that the man with Juliet had no such problem. He seemed to radiate happiness and energy, and he was taking in the scene with ill-disguised glee. I didn't like him.

The man must have noticed me looking at him, because he stepped forward with an outstretched hand. "Shawn Spencer," he said.

"Dexter Morgan," I replied, smiling as I shook his hand.

"Nice to meet you - Oh!" he said, stumbling as if I'd pushed him. He closed his eyes and brought his left hand up by his head. Opening his eyes, he looked at me with a sad smile. "It'll get better. You won't always be so sad."

Confused, I looked to Batista, but he looked as bewildered as I felt. Shrugging, he picked up a file from Quinn's desk and headed toward LaGuerta's office. I thought of my own office longingly.

Spencer finally let go of my hand, only to step forward and rest his hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry. I'm a psychic detective," he said.

How was I supposed to respond to that? Was I supposed to be happy or angry? Harry never prepared me for psychics. Why would he since they don't exist?

"Who the fuck are you?" I heard Debra ask from right behind me.

Spencer extended his hand again. "Shawn Spencer, Psychic Detective."

Deb shook his hand quickly, saying, "Yeah, I heard." Disgust and disbelief were clearly evident in her voice. I guess anger would have been the right emotion.

Juliet stepped forward to stand next to Spencer. "Deb, Shawn is my boyfriend," she said.

"You're dating a psychic? I know you don't like to judge, O'Hara, but a psychic?"

"Wow. Lassie in female form," Spencer said to Juliet. I wasn't sure what that meant, but Juliet rolled her eyes in response.

"Debra, I know you've never liked psychics, but Shawn is the real deal. He's solved every single case we've given him."

I watched the exchange with interest, looking for anything that I might be able to use in case I ever had to work with a psychic detective in the future. If I hadn't been watching closely, I would have missed the way Spencer's eyes tightened for a split second when Juliet had professed her faith in his abilities. Looked like our psychic was feeling guilty about something.

"Impressive, but that doesn't mean he's a psychic," Deb replied.

"Wait, wait. I'm getting something," Spencer said, bringing his hand up to his head again. "A full moon. The moonlight is shining down on…on…on three forms. Three forms…dogs."

"Three Dog Night!" Juliet exclaimed.

"Yes, that's it! They're singing…something about being lonely. One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do," he sang, swaying to the beat in his head. He opened his eyes and stood straight, looking at Debra. "You're lonely, but you build up walls to keep people out, because every time you let someone in, they end up leaving. Except for Dexter, here. It's okay to let people in," he finished.

A smart man would have stopped talking as soon as he said 'lonely,' but not Shawn Spencer. He bravely smiled at Deb even as she glared murderously at him. Despite her anger, I could see that she was a little surprised by how close Spencer was to the truth.

"Maybe the spirits should have told you when to shut the fuck up," she said, managing to sound both mocking and intimidating at the same time.

"Yeah, Shawn," Juliet agreed, although her voice was much kinder. "Sometimes you do say things that you shouldn't."

"You could have told him all of that stuff," Debra said to Juliet, referring to what Spencer had said.

"I didn't," she responded, "but even if I had told him about you, I haven't seen you in six years. How would I know whether or not you were lonely?"

Deb didn't answer right away, as if she were trying to figure out Spencer's secret. I could have told her that her overnight bag, obviously well used, was visible from beside her desk, or that take-out menus were strewn across it, or that Spencer had probably heard that we shared a last name and so were probably related, but that would have looked strange coming from a lab guy, so I kept my mouth shut.

I regretted my decision when Spencer stiffened and looked at me. "The spirits are talking again. This time there's….there's pickles. Big pickle crunch in every bite. No. No, it's not about the pickles. It's about a stork. You've recently had a child."

If by _spirits_ he meant the stains from Harrison's breakfast, then yes, they certainly were talking. Shawn Spencer was no psychic. He was just a hyper observant guy who didn't know when to shut up. I didn't just not like him anymore. I hated him.

As much as I wanted to disappear into my office, I thought it might look weird if I didn't say anything. "My wife and I did have a child. Harrison's almost two now."

"There's more, though," Spencer said. Now that I knew his trick, I could see his eyes darting around, picking out clues even Miami's best detectives couldn't. What if he discovered the Dark Passenger? I smiled and looked as unassuming as I could.

"You're a very popular man," Spencer finally said. "People are drawn to you like cats are drawn to tuna left out on a porch all night."

Debra gaped at him. "Cats to tuna left on a porch all night?" she repeated incredulously. "That's got to be the most unflatteringly comparison ever."

"Unflattering, but hopefully true. I'd like to think that everyone likes me around here," I said calmly. Harry would be glad to know that at least my Dark Passenger wasn't exposed all because of a chance meeting with a supposed psychic detective.

"Everyone loves you, Dex. You're the department's Golden Boy. Now get back to work," Debra ordered jokingly.

"I really should. Good to see you, Juliet, and nice to meet you, Spencer. You were definitely spot-on," I said in parting before heading back to my office. Me, Dexter Morgan, a people person. It was enough to make even me almost chuckle. Almost.


End file.
